Prologue
Corby
Accepting charity didn’t come easy to me, but I had swallowed down my pride over the past four years in order to keep my passion in my life—hockey. Between ice time and equipment, I wouldn’t have been able to keep playing without accepting help from the league I’d been a part of since I was only five years old. After my mom died and I was tossed into the foster system, I felt as though hockey was the only thing I had left from my old life. Without the carpooling parents of teammates I’d played with for years, the hand-me-down equipment, and the league letting me pay off my dues by helping out around the rink, I probably wouldn’t have been able to step on the ice again. But I never expected hockey to lead me to the opportunity that dropped into my lap out of nowhere.
“Where am I going exactly?” I waited for Mrs. Carrington to explain what the hell was going on. When I’d last talked to my social worker a week ago, she hadn’t said anything about a new foster family placement. It wasn’t unusual for my living situation to change without much notice, so I hadn't been surprised when she’d called me to tell me to pack up my stuff, but the car that had pulled up behind hers wasn’t what I expected a foster parent to drive. A Bentley Continental GT cost about twice as much as the three-bedroom house that was my current foster home.
Mrs. Carrington’s gaze darted toward the street for a moment, and she twisted her hands together. “The Whitneys live in Black Mountain.”
I wasn’t sure why my normally confident social worker was acting nervous, but her mood was starting to rub off on me. Either that, or it was the idea of me living in the wealthiest town in the area. Black Mountain was only a twenty-minute bus ride away from Devil Valley, but it might as well be worlds apart for how different they were. “Are they do-gooders who can’t have kids or something?”
“Ah, not exactly.” She heaved a deep sigh and gave another furtive glance at the Bentley before stepping closer. “They’re major donors at Black Mountain Academy and seriously into hockey.”
My head reared back as though I’d been hit. “Do they have any other foster kids?”
“No, you’ll be the first.” She lowered her voice as she admitted, “I’m fairly certain the Whitneys cut through a lot of red tape to get their application fast-tracked and have you transferred into their care.”
“Let me get this straight.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “These people want me to play for Black Mountain Academy so badly that they’re moving me into their house to make it happen?”
Mrs. Carrington threw her hands up in the air. “I know how ridiculous it sounds, but yes. My impression is that’s why they’ve been pushing so hard for this.”
“They know this is my senior year, right? That seems like a lot of effort to go to for me to play just one season for the Cougars.” I wasn’t humble about my skills on the ice, but the idea of someone going to all this effort to get me to switch teams for a year blew my mind. The amount of work they’d put into this plan was flattering as fuck.
“Yes, they’re definitely aware of your age,” she confirmed with a nod. “Since I’ve worked your case since you first came into the foster care system, I have the final say in your living arrangements. You’ve been happy here, and I was hesitant to move you right before your last year of high school. I had one stipulation before I would agree to all of this—the Whitneys had to agree to keep you in their home until you leave for college in the fall. They also offered to set aside the monthly reimbursement they’ll receive from the state and give the funds to you after graduation. They’ll cover any expenses you have while you’re living with them.”
I wasn’t worried about paying for college—I planned to sign my letter of intent with one of the schools that had already verbally offered me a full ride as soon as the first window opened in early November. I had plenty of calls from interested recruiters when they were first allowed to contact me as a sophomore, and the number of interested schools only went up during the recruiting window last year. I hadn’t been able to do many official visits because I had to foot the bill for those so I wouldn’t violate NCAA rules, but that hadn’t stopped several coaches from making verbal offers. I hadn’t bothered to accept any of them since nothing was in place to hold them to it.
My plans for the time between my eighteenth birthday and when I was able to move onto campus were still up in the air. There was no way in hell I would pass up the opportunity to crash in a mansion for more than a year and have a bunch of money waiting for me at the end of the school year. “Count me in.”
“Thank goodness.” Mrs. Carrington patted my shoulder. “I wasn’t looking forward to going up against the Whitneys if you didn’t like the plan.”
I had no doubt she would’ve done it anyway because she had gone to bat for me several times over the past four years. I’d been damn lucky when my case was assigned to Mrs. Carrington because I’d heard plenty of horror stories from other foster kids about how shitty their social workers were. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be okay with this?”
She gestured toward my hockey bag and stick. “I wasn’t certain how you’d feel about leaving your friends behind and playing for a different team this year.”
“It is what it is.” I shrugged. “And the guys get that I’m not in control of my life until I turn eighteen. They’ll understand why I’m playing for the Cougars instead of the Blue Devils.”
“They better,” she grumbled with a frown. “If one of their parents had been willing to take you in, then you would’ve been in the same place for the past four years, and nobody from my office would’ve been in favor of moving you now.”
This wasn’t the first time Mrs. Carrington had expressed her frustration over the fact that I’d only been able to stay with one of my friends for two weeks after my mom’s funeral. I’d been pissed about it at first too, but I’d eventually gotten over my disappointment. My friends’ parents still helped me out a lot even though none of them felt as though they could take me in for the long haul. Flashing her a grin, I lifted my hockey bag and flung it over my shoulder. “But then I wouldn’t be riding in a Bentley to the mansion I’ll be calling home, and that’d be a damn shame.”
“Language.” Her answering smile let me know that she was correcting me because she was supposed to and not because my language actually bugged her.
I grabbed my stick and hoped it fit inside the Bentley. The rest of my shit was in my backpack and a suitcase, and I didn’t want to make another trip back to Devil Valley if I didn’t have to. “Sorry.”
“Would you like some help?” Looking over my shoulder, I saw the guy who’d been behind the wheel of the Bentley had gotten out and was rounding the front of the vehicle.
“Sure, man. That’d be great.” I picked up my backpack and let him grab the suitcase. Mrs. Carrington followed us to the back of the car and watched while we figured out how to get all three of my bags to fit in the trunk and my stick into the back seat. Once that was done, I turned to my social worker and smiled. “Thanks for all the help.”